


My Kinda Freakshow

by ariiadne



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fic, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Short Chapters, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, drug overdose, prompt, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariiadne/pseuds/ariiadne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working title. Small experimental stories as a result of prompts from tumblr or ideas from my brain. Chapters set in no particular order.</p><p>(I'm also open to suggestions, so please, don't be shy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can You Feel the Rads Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from @captainceranna on tumblr. Thank you so much!
> 
> "A quiet fluffy moment with Penelope and her LI and/or favorite companion!"

The grey clouds turned the little light they allowed through blue, heavy raindrops falling from their bellies. Rain used to soothe Penelope, the pitter-patter against the roof a calming rhythm, the streaks of moisture racing down the windowpanes, the strong scent of earth it kicked into the air.

But she no longer had a roof and no windows to keep her fully sheltered from the elements. Glass had long been blown out by the nuclear shockwave, as wood rotted and metal rusted away. The scent… that was still there, though. Not as pungent, however, as the Massachusetts climate and atomic winter stifled it with the cold. Penelope used to naively think she was used to this sort of weather. But that was when she had a home and clothes that fit instead of rundown ruins and makeshift rags scavenged from dead bodies. Then, she could escape it. Now, she could not.

The storm had moved in quickly, quicker than she and Hancock could find proper cover. The two sat on the steps of a dilapidated porch, the house to which it was once attached in shambles behind it. She honestly had no idea how it remained intact; the wood lurched beneath their weight, already damp and moldy. Dogmeat shuffled beneath the floorboards as best he could, hoping to find some better protection from the storm. 

The ghoul lit a cigarette as nonchalantly as the water dripped from the canals of his tricorn hat. She couldn’t tell his foggy breath from the smoke. He offered one to her, shivers badly hidden in her negative response. It didn’t surprise him; Penny wasn’t big into chems or anything similar. He’d only seen her use them in emergency situations – buffout to carry a wounded companion, mentats to crack that terminal with Super Mutants closing in, and the rare psycho injection when they found themselves cornered, to name a few. Never took jet, though. Not after what happened the last time. He respected that, even if it disappointed him a little. Getting high was fun enough as it was, but getting high with someone else? That was even better. It just so happens one of the few people he found himself wanting to be high with was reluctant to do so.

The Commonwealth – no, the world – was already a miserable place. He and most of the population had been born into this, however. But Penny? She was like a pre-war ghoul but without the two hundred or so years to adjust. When it all somehow managed to get through his defenses, chems would help him forget about reality to feel that bit of happiness and peace he wouldn’t really know otherwise. But for her, for Penny… it was different.

Hancock wasn’t much of a thinker. That’s what mentats were for. And he was nowhere near high enough to dwell on his good friend’s shitty situation. He couldn’t do anything about that. But hell if he wasn’t going to do something else if he could.

“Cold?”

“I’ll be fine.”

The ghoul’s shoulders bounced with a single chuckle. The little that remained of his lips clamped down on the cigarette butt, his hands working to unfasten the flag tied at his waist. Penelope tried to be discreet, glancing from the corners of her eyes, perplexed. She fought off a sniffle as her companion shimmied his arm from the sleeve of his red frock coat.

“Take that wet thing off, sister,” he mumbled, cig preventing his mouth from forming complete words and sounds.

“Huh?”

He lifted his arm invitingly. “C’mere. I don’t bite… yet.” That charming shit-eating grin appeared yet again, rough, gravelly laughs rattling his throat. Penelope eyed him with a good measure of confusion, causing him to roll his darkened eyes. “Haven’t you learned anything about ghouls yet? The rads cooked us up real good. We’re probably still cookin’, actually.” Penny’s brow wrinkled, eyes narrowing, still not getting it. Hancock stared for a good second, stogie hanging limply from his mouth. “Alright,” he finally announced, groaning as he stood momentarily, shuffling to her side and plopping down unceremoniously. He flung his arms open. “Let’s cuddle.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Snuggle up to your favorite ghoul right here.”

“I told you I was fine, John.”

“I ain’t challenging your good looks,” he rebutted playfully, much to her chagrin. “ _C’mon_ ,” he drawled, “trust me.” With an exasperated huff, Penelope caved and half-heartedly fell into the crook of his arm. “There ya go.” Grabbing the flag, he draped it over her haphazardly like a blanket, meanwhile bringing her closer. Penelope’s surprised reaction was almost instantaneous. “What did I tell you?”

Hancock was warm. Unnaturally warm, especially for these conditions. Penny chose not to respond, instead bottling her embarrassment stubbornly. She hadn’t been this close to anyone in… a long time. After a while, she began to feel herself relax, fatigue replacing the stiffness that once occupied her muscles. Eyelids drooping, she almost felt… comfortable.

A familiar clanking grew louder, the _fwoosh_  of Codsworth’s thruster at odds with the downpour. “Oh, I am _so_  sorry, mum!” he announced, jolting her from her lull. Had she fallen asleep? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t remember. “I’ve looked everywhere for kindling not ruined by this blasted rain with no such luck, I’m afraid.”

Before she could reply, Hancock did. “Don’t worry, pal. I got it covered.”

“This simply will not do,” the Mr. Handy blabbered on regardless, floating over to a dead tree. “Perhaps if I–aha!” With a swing of his saw, Codsworth cut through a small branch, revealing the dry insides. As the robot chortled and challenged more branches, Hancock looked down to the Vault dweller pressed against his side. He opened his mouth to speak before he watched the ruffles of his colonial shirt sway back and forth in a steady, sleepy pattern.

The orange glow from his cigarette made his peculiar smirk all the more obvious.


	2. Dodging Dicks Like Bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous on tumblr:
> 
> "SS has been gone a long time and returns to their LI/fave companion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great time on this one. I think I may even continue it further to detail what happens later in this scenario. This isn’t as fluffy as one might expect from such a prompt, but again my inner history dork got in the way and there is more name play to be had. I hope you enjoy nevertheless!

By the time they’d cleared the Boston Public Library of the Super Mutants and the leftover security systems, Hancock lost track of how many chems he’d already taken. Med-X because, well, Super Mutants. A few doses of that, actually. Jet to evade the spray of bullets coming from every direction, whether it be from a rifle or a turret. Psycho to “go feral,” as he put it. Because, again, fucking Super Mutants. All chased by a swig of vodka when there was time to breathe.

All they’d come here for was to return a goddamned book for Daisy. Penny and her got along swimmingly. Both pre-war. He understood sentiment as much as the next person, but watching her deposit the book into the overdue slot did not feel as satisfying as he’d hoped. A squeak, a swish, a thud, and a ping as giant green corpses still twitched around them. His brow lifted in curiosity when what sounded like caps clattered out, only to learn they were just library tokens. He wasn’t too disappointed, though. Hard to be, strung out as he was.

They would stay and scavenge for a while. In the spirit of it all, Hancock popped a few Mentats, hoping it might take some of the Jet’s edge off and make his mind less of a swamp. In the meantime, the ghoul’s fingers pecked at the library terminal, key by key, inputting various search queries. Many of which ushered a stupid giggle from him.

He learned a lot. The library had – at least at some point – books on poop, radiation, guns, drugs, boobs, baby animals, and penises, among other things. As the Mentats kicked in, slowly but surely, his searches became a bit more mature and coherent.

_H a n c o c k_

A bunch of entries came up. He wondered if any were still intact?

_A b r a h a m  L i n c o l n_

Even more on him. An exorbitant amount.

The chem-induced silliness lingered.

_P e n e l o p e_

It surprised him the amount that popped up. Books, vids, everything. Hancock downed a buffout or two, and by the time they left, he toted some of the legible books he could find. For a rainy day, the mentats told him.

There were a lot of missions he could not go on with Penny. And there were a lot of times he could not even when he could, due to events occurring in Goodneighbor. Events requiring a certain mayoral presence.

Waiting got harder as time went on, for a few reasons – some Hancock wasn’t really ready to admit. He filled the space with chems and not much else. Only when he rode the Mentat wave did Hancock remember he even had the books. Hadn’t touched them since getting them. On a good trip, he could finish a book in a matter of hours. Never really retained anything, though. Unless it was particularly entertaining, which one of his choices happened to be. The one which, coincidentally, had Penelope in it.

Not really her, of course, just a character with her name. The wife of some badass warrior king that everyone and their uncle wanted to bang. While her man was out killing a cyclops and sea monsters and shacking up with witches, she sat at home dodging dicks like bullets for two decades.

But she waited. Even when she thought this Odysseus guy was dead, she waited. Staying loyal to her husband until he crashed their party and murdered every single one of Penelope’s suitors like a goddamn professional.

But sometimes the Mentats got him thinking about stuff he’d rather not think about. Stuff that didn’t really make him feel like an intellectual and more like a nitwit. Stuff like whether or not the Penelope he knew would wait around for her husband for that long, even though she knew he was dead. He saw the way some of the others looked at her. That Preston Garvey fellow specifically. Hancock had nothing against the guy – liked him a lot, in fact – but after a while, it was hard to tell if he jumped to attention when she entered the room just because of her rank among the Minutemen.

It really wasn’t any of his business. When the Mentats wore off, it didn’t really bother him. Everyone had the right to live life on their own terms. Didn’t really change the fact that he felt like one of the suitors, sitting and waiting and hoping she’d choose. Felt almost predatory. Felt a little wrong.

It’d been a little over a month since he’d heard anything, longer since he’d seen her. So when he heard she was at Daisy’s talking the old girl’s ear off, he got a little jealous.

“Well look who it is!” he announced, tearing Penny away from her previous conversation as Daisy rolled her eyes behind her. “You walk into my town and this is the ghoul you decide to see first? I’m offended.”

She smiled, wider than he’d seen her do before. She opened her mouth to respond, but Daisy beat her to the punch. “That’s right, Hancock. You may have the power, but I’ve got the good looks.”

“Can’t argue there.” His milky blue eyes glided to his friend, smirk curling along his lips. He held out his hand. “It’s good to see you still in one piece!”

Penelope went to shake the hand he offered. “It’s good to see you t—” When their hands latched, Hancock jerked her into a hug, cackling. She patted his back with some force, begrudgingly returning the gesture as she shook her head.

They separated, the ghoul sporting a shit-eating grin. “You were saying?”

“I was going to say the same. Well, mostly.”

Hancock slid one arm around her shoulders as the other waved away her statement. “I didn’t need that ear anyway. Look, now that you’re back in town, let me give you a proper welcome this time.”

“So no stabbing and murder?” she dryly countered.

“Only if we’re lucky. Look,” he began, getting in closer, his eyes shifting from side to side, “I… know a guy. Let me see if he can pull some strings, maybe get us a reservation down at the Third Rail for tonight. Whaddya say?”

“I had no idea you were so well-connected.” Her deadpan tone extracted a bark of laughter from Daisy at the counter.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, sister.”

“She knows you’re an idiot.”

The mayor glanced over his shoulder. “You kiss Marowski with that mouth?” The ghoulish clerk glared, unamused. “What, don’t tell me you’re jealous. You know you’re still my favorite girl!”

“Please just agree so he leaves, Penny,” Daisy groaned, biting her cheek.

Penelope inhaled. “Of course. What time?”

“Uh.” Hancock hastily patted himself down until he located his clearly broken pocketwatch. His face scrunched in serious contemplation. “How’s nine sound?”

“Sounds good.”

“Good!” He finally detached himself from her side. “I’ll let you ladies get back to business. Got some of my own, you know, being mayor and all.”

Penelope crossed her arms, lifted a brow, and wryly grinned. “Goodbye, John.” With a bow and a flourish of his tricorn hat, Hancock sauntered away.

Penny turned to Daisy as she chuckled. “What?”

“You better watch out, hun.”


	3. The First and the "Last"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anon on tumblr: How about the last kiss between SS and their LI?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don’t mind the little twist I put on this prompt. :p

It was the first. And it was going to be the last. She would make sure of it.

Through his headphones, he heard the creak of his door as it closed. His head did a double-take, swearing he didn’t see anyone the first time around.

“The Shroud returns!” Kent exclaimed, a giddy grin painting his face. “Here for another—” It quickly evaporated. “Is everything alright?”

The pre-war ghoul had seen his friend in all manners of conditions – from strong to badly wounded – but this was new. She looked… scared. So much so that a thin ream of tears laced the edges of her widened eyes. The rest of her face remained unmoving, stiff, as if to do all in her power to prevent them from falling.

Penelope held her index finger to her lips. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Of course, Shr—Penny. Anything,” he replied, the volume on his voice turned down in kind.

“Can I use your lounger? Just once. Just… right now,” she hastily added.

He blinked. “Sh-Shouldn’t you be asking Irma? Or Dr. Amari?”

“I… I don’t think I could wait for an appointment.” This was a half-truth.

Kent’s brow furrowed as he fidgeted with the rim of his hat. “For someone like you, Penny, I don’t think—”

“Please.”

The potent hopelessness and desperation in her hushed voice set his jaw agape. She stood there, silently breathing, hands clenched at her side in an effort to quell the trembles he didn’t notice.  His cloudy eyes drifted to the worn floorboards, a hard swallow jostling his throat.

“No one saw me come in,” she reassured warmly. “You just need to talk to Irma, lock the door, and that’s all.”

The fact that she’d thought about it so thoroughly put him on edge. Not to mention, it was _his_ lounger… what if he needed it while she was in there? What if this would get him in trouble? Get him kicked out of the Memory Den? Dr. Amari would be able to see the memories playing to some extent… she would know it wasn’t him in the lounger after just a minute.

“I… I don’t know…” Kent gripped his pant legs, crinkling the fabric. “You know that Dr. Amari will be able to tell… right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Irma might get angry.”

“Not at you, Kent. At me.”

“But if I let you—”

“I know I’m asking a lot,” she cut in, softly, weakly. “I just… I’m asking as… a favor. A very… personal favor.”

“Personal?”

“I miss someone. Very much. I’d… I’d just like to see them again.”

“Oh.” His gaze flickered from her face to the wall repeatedly. Kent knew that feeling well. Sometimes he forgot they were both pre-war. The traumas of it all was what got him addicted to the Memory Den’s services in the first place. He could re-live the “good old days.” He could see life brimming again, see it in the trees. The smell of his mother’s cooking. The bark of his beloved terrier, Baxter. The comfort of clean sheets, warm baths. He could go on. Could he really deny her that, just once? “Alright.” Sighing, the ghoul massaged his face. “The doctor is going to need a starting point, something to look for.”

She knew this. She’d thought hard on that for quite a while. Dr. Amari would be able to see the memory panning out, so she wouldn’t have much time before she realized it wasn’t Kent in the lounger. She needed a strong memory, but a quick one. Short and sweet. A brief eclipse to blacken out her current thoughts – and, hopefully, extinguish them.

“Tell her you want to remember a friend’s wedding.”

Another half-truth.

 

* * *

 

_“Alright… I’ve scanned the hippocampus and have found a related memory of some strength. Enjoy, Mr. Connelly.”_

The smell hits first. Light cologne, cigar smoke, a bit of sweat. A faint hint of the steak sauce he’d spilled on himself. Thick, green grass. The catering. The gentle aroma of a small carnation in his pocket square. They had been his mother’s favorite. It was like having her there, he said.

Then, the warmth. His warmth. Not the hot tears pouring from the corners of her eyes as she lie there, but the memory unchanged, pristine. It starts in her cheek as it rests against his shoulder. Hands on her hips, forehead pressed to hers. The night is young but the air is cool; spring in Massachusetts arrives fashionably late. Her bare shoulders feel the brunt of it.

Her eyes stayed closed. It had been a long, eventful day. She was tired. It was less of a dance and more two bodies propped against each other, rocking back and forth to stay standing.

It was everything she wanted it to be. It was everything it was.

The hum of a dozen different conversations. Her sister’s raucous laugh explodes in the background. She had always been loud, but she’d also had too much champagne. More laughter blooms around hers, swelling like a wave nearing the shore. Essa. Oh god, Essa.

She forces the thought from her head. This was about Nate. Her husband. The father of her child. The man who somehow returned from war with scars on his body but few on his heart, still managing to faint at Shaun’s birth despite the things he’d seen in combat. The man who made her feel safe and loved in a tense and troubled world. The man who introduced himself as ‘Sergeant Major Jack Goff’ to their new Mr. Handy and couldn’t get him to stop calling him that for a good three months. They finally compromised with ‘sir.’

Then, the song. Slow. The lyrics leak through; it sounds like she’s underwater at first. But they grow crisper, clearer.

_Now is your motor running close to empty?_ _  
_ _Or are you runnin' from yourself?_

No. No… that… that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the song. Penny remembered the song. She opened her eyes. It was the same patio, adorned with the same white string lights weaving through the rafters of their rented tent. The same small candles flickering on each clothed table. The same dark wood dance floor on which she stood, one slow step after another, as she and Nate danced. The same dark blue night, fireflies poetically fading in and out of existence among the nearby trees.

_“Something is wrong… there seems to be an interference.”_

Penny clamped her eyes shut. When they opened, the fireflies had turned to burning ends of cigarettes, glowing and dimming with each inhalation.

Just as quickly, they were fireflies again. Her heart began to beat a bit faster.

_You're thirsty for a brand new kind of pleasure?_ _  
_ _Or are you hungry to be somebody else?_

All at once, it isn’t cigars and cologne. No carnation, no sauce. Just Abraxo, light and clean, mixed with bourbon and smoke. The song grew louder.

_So sit down your pretty face_ _  
_ _You came to the right place_

She blinked, and the sharp black tuxedo was now a faded red.

No. No no no no.

_“The memory is weakening… attempting to stabilize…”_

It did anything but. The fireflies were cigarettes again; the light breeze came from a subway tunnel rather than the evening air. The only thing that stayed the same was the song.

_Oh, where every night it starts once more_ _  
_ _I'm telling you friend, your search is at an end_

_“Connection with the temporal lobe is fluctuating wildly… Kent, we may need to disconnect and try another…”_

Somehow, she’s outside herself now. Watching the one thing she had come here to forget.

_“What is… Kent, what is going on?”_

She wanted to dance with Nate. Not with him. And yet, she continued, humoring the silly request of a man with no face. She’d only had a few drinks. She couldn’t blame the alcohol. No. She had no one to blame but herself. Magnolia smiled into her microphone.

_Cause I'm the one you're lookin' for._

She could have stopped him. She could have moved. She knew what was coming.

_“I am deactivating the lounger…”_

Why didn’t she move? How could she not move? Kissing a man who likely looked alive what Nate did dead in the ground. Of all the things this place… no, this _time_ made her do, this one brought her the most shame. The scene flitted between the Third Rail and her parents’ backyard. Back and forth between a white dress and stained clothes, the DJ and Whitechapel Charlie. Next thing she knew, Magnolia sang at her wedding and she danced with Nate in her tattered, stolen clothes – a glistening, mangled hole in his head.

But when their mouths met, it was just her and Hancock in the dank, foggy light of the subterranean bar. _He_ leaned in and kissed _her._ Right at the end of the song, as if he’d planned the whole thing. Had he? Was that Magnolia’s usual grin, or was it a knowing smirk?

Then, it was gone.


	4. I like my men how I like my coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: Penelope and Hancock making breakfast?

Penelope glared dismally into her tin cup with whatever light the early dawn offered. Dim greys and dimmer yellows swirled in the steaming liquid within. Black specks followed the current.

Penny never really indulged in breakfast. Coffee _was_ her breakfast. Had been for as far back as college. In better times, it was considered bad, unhealthy. But in the wasteland that was Boston? It was one of the better options. As bitter and as weak as it usually was.

When she’d first emerged from the Vault, the coffee she’d had that fateful morning lingered on her tongue. Typically, morning coffee breath was to be feared. She didn’t know how much she’d miss it when it was gone.

A shinier Codsworth had made her that last cup, as he had the one she currently held. The Mr. Handy diligently tended to their small fire, his attempts at staying quiet thwarted by his rusted joints. Groups of other travelers gathered nearby, still sleeping, all huddled on the outskirts of a small settlement for safety. Some were drifters, some were merchants with their hulking, two-headed ghoul-cows.

Cows.

Penelope squinted, her gaze gradually dragging itself back to camp. On the other side of the fire sat Hancock, planted on a tree stump with his cheek in his hand, staring blankly into the flames. He, too, held a cup of Codsworth’s brew, though despite his obvious hangover, Penny doubted he’d even touched it.

“Hey, Hancock,” she blurted softly. No response. “John.”

“Huh?” The ghoul blinked, lifting his head from his palm to look at her.

“You ever milked one of those weird cows?”

A grin lazily crawled along his mouth, clearly still quite dazed. “Ha ha… what?”

“Do those cows make milk or is it like radioactive plasma now?”

Brow wrinkling, Hancock chuckled. “You mean the Brahmin? Yeah, they make milk.” Penelope’s fingernails tapped rhythmically against metal. “What?”

Next thing he knew, they were crouching beside a slumbering caravaner’s Brahmin, inspecting its underside.

Careful to not spook the creature, Penny whispered. “I mean… do they all… work? She has, like… fifteen nipples.”

Hancock took a drag of his cigarette, the tattered tails of his coat dangling between his legs. “I hope they’re nipples.”

She shot him a look, eyes gliding from one corner to the other in confusion. “What else would they be?” He shrugged. Her lips coined to speak but froze in place, clamping shut a moment later instead. Hands joining at her chin, she inhaled. “What makes you think–?”

“—I’ve just never seen a Brahmin _without_ an udder is all I’m saying.” He made an unsettlingly compelling point. “That,” he went on, smirking as he took another drag, “and me and it ain't so different." He exhaled, smoke filling the air. "But I only got three.”

Penelope let out a hearty snort. The Brahmin kicked and brayed. Next thing you know, she’s on the ground and disgruntled merchants are scrambling from their tents.

Needless to say, her coffee remained black. Like her eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like a kick in the face


	5. John Hancockblock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tumblr: A passionate debate between Sole and Hancock!
> 
> Rated M for language

There wasn’t anybody in Goodneighbor that didn’t know about what happened at the Third Rail.

And there wasn’t a soul in Goodneighbor that didn’t hear about what happened at the Memory Den soon after.

It wasn’t any real news that Mayor Hancock made a move on a girl with some interesting consequences. But it wasn’t every day that the girl apparently had some sort of mental breakdown as a result. ‘Vault dwellers,’ they’d say, shaking their heads or shrugging. Few in town had the good manners or the presence of mind to not make a joke about it. Words like ‘despotism’ and ‘malfeasance’ were loftily tossed about – mostly in jest, sometimes murmured under the breaths of disgruntled citizens.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to take seriously.

The mayor’s subsequent chem bender didn’t raise any brows either. That was just Hancock. Not to mention, he himself had no issue discussing it – joking about it, either.

“Whaddya expect?” he’d slur, smile plastered on his face. “Pre-war Vault gal stumbles out after a few hundred years and gets kissed by a walkin’, talkin’ ballsack!” Raucous, booming laughter detonated in the hazy, smoke-choked room. “Who could blame her?”

Other times, it’d be: “So much for my winning personality!”

Or: “What can I say? I like older women.”

And the rare: “Jet makes me handsy.”

Plenty of folks offered their reassurances, and sometimes their condolences.

“I don’t blame ya,” lamented one of the yokels loitering in the alleyway into which the ghoul wandered. “I woulda killed to get some pre-war pussy. Wonder what it’s like.” With no response, he added, “Got a smoke?”

Stopping in his tracks, Hancock dug into his coat and extracted a badly beaten box of cigarettes. Tapping the bottom, one shot up, and he held it out to the drifter. With a thud, Hancock leaned against the eroded brick and lit up a cigarette, his hand shielding it from the night wind. He glanced out of the corners of his eyes at his current company. “You should go work your magic with Daisy, then, brother.”

The man’s scruffy mug crinkled. “Daisy don’t count.” A pause of contemplation along with a cloudy grey exhalation. “Does she?” Another. “You think she would?”

Sporting a toothy grin, Hancock shook his head and chuckled. “Not a chance.” The rest of the interaction was spent in thoughtful silence, the sounds of Goodneighbor reverberating against the walls.

* * *

A lot of news around the Commonwealth in the weeks after. John had no doubt in his mind that a good chunk connected to Penny, seeing as she was one of the only people doing a goddamn thing out there. Then again, since the Minutemen reclaimed Fort Independence and the Brotherhood of Steel set up shop on the coast, that conclusion would probably be reached less and less likely. Shit was changing, slowly but surely. At least maybe she wouldn’t have to do all the goddamn work.

“Yo, Hancock!” A call from across the bar. A wobbly citizen, red-faced, waved him down. “I heard that kiss o’ yers was so bad yer girl joined the Brotherhood of Steel!”

Initially, he blew it off. He downed his shot, tapping the counter for another. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

By that time, the man’s laughter grew more hysterical by the minute. “That Vault girl! Rumor is… she been rollin’ with those metal assholes!” Tears began to stream from the corner of his squinted eyes. “You… You turned her off to ghouls so bad…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, words replaced with smacks to the wooden counter that shook every glass upon it.

Others in the Third Rail joined in, though their mirth was cut short by the harsh screech of Hancock’s barstool against the ruined tile. Hands in his coat pockets, the ghoul tread up the stairwell as patrons looked on in silence. The din resumed as soon as his footsteps faded.

“He’s probably just blowin’ smoke out his ass,” Fahrenheit suggested, attempting to quell her smirk at her grumpy boss who sat on one of the couches in his office, cigarette twirling in his lips like straw in a Brahmin’s. “She wouldn’t do something that stupid.” She watched as the tip of his cigarette ignited brightly, smoke soon billowing from what was left of his nose like a disgruntled dragon.

* * *

The mayor could hear Kent Connolly’s whiny, frantic voice before he even made it halfway through the door downstairs. He braced himself as the pre-war ghoul scrambled up the staircase to his desk.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Kent wheezed, adjusting the hat on his head. “But I… I was just scanning the radio frequencies. There’s chatter from the Cambridge Police Station. It’s a Brotherhood channel!”

“Huh.” Hancock crossed his arms and looked to the floorboards. “Well, that’s shitty.” Goodneighbor and the police station had some distance between them, but were close enough for Connolly’s short-wave radio to pick up their signals. Too close for his comfort.

“You think they’re making a move on Goodneighbor?” Fear brimmed in Kent’s eyes, his lack of much of a face still able to convey a potent look of anxiety. “They-They hate us, you know. Ghouls. Synths, too. Do you think they kn-know about KLEO? Oh, god.”

Hancock tugged at the ruffled sleeves peeking from under his coat. “Calm down.” The heels of his boots clacked against the wood as he rounded his desk. “I’ll handle it.” Suddenly, he froze. “Or… maybe you should call your _friend_ , Kent.”

It took him a moment. “My…? Oh!” He scratched his brow. “But… she’s not allowed at the Memory Den anymore. How is she supposed to–?”

“Just get her here.”

“Right, uh… o-okay, Hancock. If you say so.”

* * *

A few days passed. Hancock wasn’t sure Penny picked up Kent’s broadcast until guards notified him – per request – of a familiar armed woman and her dog approaching from the distance. It wasn’t like Penny to travel so late at night; whether it was a part of the whole ‘Silver Shroud’ persona or for some other reason, he didn’t know.

Needless to say, Penny was shocked to find him sitting in Connolly’s lounger.

Kent pushed past the Vault Dweller, wringing his hands nervously and staring at the ground. He plopped into his chair near the radio.

“Kent?” The pre-war ghoul couldn’t look her in the eye. Her gaze glided to Hancock.

“The Silver Shroud returns!” He didn’t expect her to look so ragged. Unfolding his legs, Hancock swung himself up to his feet. “Glad you got our message.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh…” Kent attempted, his voice giving out. He swallowed and tried again. Hancock beat him to it.

“Ol’ Kent here picked up some weird frequencies. Came to me. Said the Brotherhood’s shacked up nearby at the Cambridge station. Rumor has it you’re ridin’ with those folks these days. That true?”

Penelope shifted, jostling the bag dangling from her shoulder. “Yeah.”

Hancock’s expression went from a strained friendly to a sobered straight face. He let out an acknowledging grunt. “Is that something we – I – gotta worry about?” Undertones of warning laced his words. It choked the air with a palpable tension.

“I don’t think so, no.” In the background, Kent’s breathing grew heavier and more laborious.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m…” Kent shakily got up from his seat, looking about aimlessly. “I’m gonna… I’ll be outside.” With that, he rushed out of the room.

Penny waited until quiet settled comfortably to speak again. “You could have just sent a courier to find me, you know. You didn’t have to involve Kent.”

“Would you have come if I did?”

Her jaw clenched. They glared at one another. “Probably.”

He chuffed. “At least you’re honest.”

“I’ve always been honest with you, John.”

“So, what’s going on, then? Why are you with those assholes?”

“It’s an ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’-type situation.”

“And your enemy is…?”

She gave him a hard look. “The Institute.”

“The Institute. Right.”

Her uneasiness and timidity quickly transformed into irritation. “You have something you want to say?”

“Not really. I just wanted to be sure Goodneighbor wasn’t going to get ass-raped with a rusty _steel_ dildo.”

She actually cracked a small grin at his colorful verbiage. “You know I wouldn’t let that happen if I could help it. And I would have warned you if I couldn’t.”

“Just making sure.”

She forced an unconvincing smile on her lips. “Well, now that you’re sure, I am fucking exhausted—”

“—So is that why you freaked?” Penelope drew back, face scrunching, perplexed. “Your little undercover game with the Brotherhood. Kissin’ ghouls in public would get you disqualified.”

“What? Is… Is that what this is about?” A curt laugh burst from her mouth.

“I mean, it’s part of it.”

“You didn’t seem too broken up about it.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, does Jet make you handsy _and_ forgetful, too?” That threw the ghoul for a loop. “Yeah, I fucking heard the shit you said. Let’s just fucking laugh at the fucking Vault dweller. While I was fucking losing my mind, you fucking treated it like a joke! And why not? Just another drug-induced swing-and-miss, am I right? Just another notch in John Hancock’s belt.”

Hancock massaged between his brows, pinching at the deformed skin. “Penny, that’s not—”

“—And then you pull this _shit_ ,” she spat venomously. “Does Jet make you lose your balls, too?! Does the Jet erase every fucking thing I’ve said and done and make me a fucking suspect?” At this point, her cheeks are damp, her eyes are red, and bits of hair stick to her forehead. Her shoulders heave with ragged, uneven breaths. Her voice is fading to a rasp. She was barely holding herself together. John could only look on helplessly. Speechless.

“I’m done with this conversation.” Penny brought her trembling, accusative finger back to her side. “If you want to talk later, you fucking come to _me_. I’ll be at the Rexford. I haven’t slept in fucking days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm self-esteem issues


	6. Vomit by any other name would taste just as nasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt from @korrawr using the word "bitter" -- I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much!

The second time his mouth meets hers, the taste is bitter.

Bitter, but not unfamiliar. Bile is a flavor you don’t forget. 

Deep scratch marks carved out the inside of the door. The floorboards at the threshold. The windowsill. Dogmeat had been trying to get out for a while before he’d showed up. Observations confirmed by the shade of purple staining her lips. Empty Med-X syringes lay neatly on the bedside table.

He dragged her from the bed to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Claws clicked on wood as Dogmeat paced around the room and whined, eventually making his way to Penny, lapping up the dribble and vomit running down the side of her face. Hancock set his head to her chest. Between the sound leaking through the thin walls, the mutt, and his own thoughts, the ghoul didn’t hear much. Either that, or she simply wasn’t breathing.

Unflinchingly, methodically, he cleared any remaining debris from her mouth with a finger.  He murmured under his breath. “What the hell were you thinking, doing this shit alone?”

He certainly wasn’t one to talk. But he held himself to a different standard than others. Penny wasn’t much of a user to begin with. At least, that he knew of. And Med-X? Was she in pain? Enough to have her overdose?

Those were questions for later. Right then, he focused on chest compressions. 

A twitch here, a wince there. Good signs. Despite his expertise with the situation, he was no doctor. A cough, a sputter. Finally. Hancock turned her on her side so she couldn’t have the chance to choke again. Dogmeat licked at Penny’s pale cheeks once more. Her color slowly began to seep back. But that wasn’t enough to be sure. After a minute or so, he slung her over his shoulder like a bonafide caveman.

No one paid much mind. Nothing fazed the citizens of Goodneighbor. Hancock had to herald one of the city watchmen outside the Rexford to get any shred of attention. The tommy gun-toting ghoul jogged off to find a medical professional as Hancock kicked in the side door to the statehouse.

* * *

 Sure, it was creepy, but he literally had to watch her sleep. Had to always make sure she was on her side. ODing was a process. Even though they’d given her a shot to bring her back from the brink, there was always the chance of slipping back into it. Plus, it’s not like the injection got rid of the drug’s effects. Penny still had to ride the wave she paddled out to.

Boy, could she sleep, though. Only when the coffee pot began to percolate late the next afternoon did her eyes crack open, still lined with dark bags regardless of her time unconscious. The dog’s ears immediately perked. He sat stiffly at attention before jumping to his feet and padding over to Penny’s side, whining and resting his head on the mattress.

“Thought that might wake you up.” Boot heels clacked against the floorboards as Hancock made his way to the hotplate. Penny did not move, instead watching him with tired and puzzled eyes. Her cracked, chapped lips moved but no voice followed. “Take it easy, sister. You OD’d pretty hard.”

Glassy eyes strayed from his face to the wall, unblinking, thoughtful, throat jumping as she struggled to swallow. Eventually they locked onto a bottle of murky water set beside her. He watched her move from the corner of his eye, sluggish and weak. She drank too fast and coughed, but the relief was evident when she caught her breath. The rest of the moment was spent silently petting Dogmeat, the cogs in her mind gradually hastening to process all the information.

He was pouring himself a cup when she piped in a frail, broken tone, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I figured.” He grabbed another tin mug and gestured towards her. She nodded, and he filled it. She took it from him eagerly, though tremulously. Coining her lips, she blew against the steam floating from the surface. The mayor flopped back into a chair, spilling some hot coffee on his ruffled shirt. Face crinkling in displeasure, he let loose a small, irritated groan.

“I was just trying to sleep.” Hancock’s narrowed eyes lifted at her words, all other emotions dropping from his expression. Her voice sounded stronger now.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” An awkward silence settled between them. “You wouldn’t know it, but I’m kind of an expert on self-medicating.” It was meant to be funny, but Penny grew more uncomfortable. After a moment, he added, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Seconds ticked by.

“How’s the coffee?” he asked to fill the space in the air. 

“Bitter,” she replied. His brow lifted knowingly as he took another sip. “Always is.”


End file.
